Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
SIOBHAN DAVIS
www.siobhandavis.com
Note From The Author
While you do not need to have read Finding Kyler, Losing Kyler, or Keeping Kyler to enjoy Loving Kalvin, it is highly recommended as that is where we were first introduced to our two main characters and some of the supporting characters.
I would like to set the scene so there is no confusion for readers who are up to date with the series or those who are new to the series. The prologue in this book takes place on the morning of the trial (from Losing Kyler) which occurred on November fifteenth, and then our main story starts eleven months in the future, or three months after the epilogue in Keeping Kyler.
When we meet Lana and Kalvin, they are both attending the University of Florida, and they are two months into their freshman year.
Table of Contents
Note From The Author
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
The Irish Getaway
Saving Brad
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Books By Siobhan Davis
Copyright
Prologue
November Trial
Lana
I used to think I was a decent person.
Kind, mostly selfless, with a good sense of morality, a good heart.
But I was clearly mistaken.
Because a good, kind, selfless person doesn’t do the things I’ve done these last couple months.
A good person wouldn’t continue to lie.
A good person wouldn’t accuse the only boy who’s ever mattered of such a horrible thing.
“Lana, we need to leave in thirty minutes to ensure we get parking outside the courthouse,” Mom says, poking her head through the door. She checked us into adjoining rooms in the hotel because she’s terrified to let me out of her sight these days.
I look up from the desk, chewing on the corner of my pen. “Okay. I’ll be ready.”
Her expressive hazel eyes—so similar to my own—flit to the handwritten page in front of me. Straightening up, she levels a stern look at me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m writing Faye a letter,” I lie with the confidence of an expert deceiver. The lies just flow off my tongue like warm butter sliding off a knife these days.
I’m a total fraud, and I couldn’t hate myself any more if I tried.
I swallow the painful lump in my throat as I offer her a brittle smile.
“Why? You don’t owe that girl anything.” Her lips pull into a tight line.
“Don’t, Mom.” I shake my head. “She was my friend, and I owe her an explanation.”
“I beg to differ.” Mom crosses her arms over her chest. “Today is all the explanation she needs. Once you testify, she’ll understand exactly why you left without clarifying what happened. It was better that way. Leave it alone, darling.”
Nausea swims up my throat, and I doubt I’ll get through today without hurling. I could continue arguing with her, but then I won’t get my letter finished. And it’s too important to rush. “Mom, please. I don’t want to fight. Not today. I’m writing my friend a letter, and then I’ll put my suit on”—I gesture toward the black, shapeless monstrosity she laid out on the bed earlier—“and meet you in the lobby before we need to leave.”
Clearly noting the resolve in my tone and my expression, she backs down. “I don’t want to fight with you either, honey. I know how difficult today is going to be. I’ll leave you to write your letter in peace.” She closes the door quietly behind her.
I collapse in my chair, exhaling loudly.
Yes, today is going to be difficult.
But not for the reason she thinks.
Shaking aside those thoughts, I refocus on the task at hand. I examine the heap of crumpled pages in the trash—testament to more epic failure. For someone who aspires to be a writer, it’s pathetic that I can’t find the right words to tell the boy I love how sorry I am. I know him inside and out, so this should be uncomplicated. Shoot straight from the heart. Cakewalk, right?
So, why is this one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do?
Glancing at the half-written page in front of me, I scan my latest effort with a frown. Frustrated, I scrunch the page into a ball and toss it clear across the room.
Ugh. Propping my elbows on the desk, I drop my head into my hands and shut my eyes.
His hauntingly beautiful face dances across the fields of my imagination, and a deep pang of yearning punches another hole in my heart.
Gosh, I miss him so much, and I’m not sure I have the strength to do this.
The problem is simple really.
I could write this letter, but I don’t want to.
That’s what’s holding me back.
Even though I know it’s for the best, there’s a romantic, nostalgic part of me that still sees Kalvin Kennedy as my Prince Charming. My Mr. Right. My future.
The issue with that picture isn’t Kal. Not really. Although, I’m sure he must hate me now, but this one is on me.
It’s all my fault.
I wish things were different.
I wish I could rewrite our story, but I can’t. The damage is done, and there’s no going back.
The usual panic waylays me. I take deep breaths. In and out. Reminding myself I’m doing the right thing. And I can do this.
I’m strong enough.
I’ll have to be.
I rub a tense spot between my brows, picking up the pen and a new piece of paper. I squint at the clock. Time is ticking. It’s now or never.
Kal,
Writing this letter has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I never thought the time would come when words were the obstacle lying between us.
I’m sorry has never seemed more inadequate than it does in this moment. I could fill this page with row upon row of apologies, and it still wouldn’t come close to making up for what I have done to you, so, I won’t go there. Just know there is no word in the English language that can convey how truly regretful I am.
I don’t think a day will pass where you aren’t hijacking my mind because you live there—in my thoughts and in my dreams. Sometimes, in my nightmares.
You are all I think about, even when I’m trying so hard to forget you.
Even now. Even after all the hurt and the pain, I still love you so much. Probably too much for someone my age. I used to believe it was because we were made for each other. That we had a special kind of love most people never find. Now, I wonder if it’s the opposite. If we were put together to show the destructive side of love.
You have always been my light and my dark.
My sun and shadow.
My strength and weakness.
You bring out the best and the worst in me.
Your continual rejection over the years hurt me more than you know—yet it was nothing compared to the pain I endured when Addison showed me that video.
It hurt, Kal. It hurt so much.
I’ve never experienced that kind of soul-crushing pain before. Not even when you first brushed me aside, and I thought I wanted to die.
It’s not an excuse for how I’ve behaved, and I’m not presenting it as such—I’m merely stating the facts, so you can try to understand where this stemmed from.
I’ve gone over and over it in my mind, and most days I struggle to connect my actions with the person I know I am. It’s like a stranger inhabited my body, and I allowed her full control. Unbearable pain blindsided me, separated me from my soul and my heart, and I trusted in someone who manipulated me. I should have known better. I did know better.
I’ve rewritten this letter a hundred times, and it’s tempting to leave out the most important fact, but there’s no point in writing a letter without honesty. I knew it would hurt you, and I wanted you to hurt as much as I was.
There. I’ve said it. Now you know how truly awful I am.
I don’t feel that way anymore, and I’m ashamed I acted so rashly, that I caused so much pain, but I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can only try and repair the damage and hope that, in time, you can somehow find it in your heart to forgive me. Because the thought of you living the rest of your life hating me is worse than the prospect of living mine without you by my side.
Mom claims I have an old soul. Maybe that’s why I was always so sure about us. Why our age never made a difference. Why my love felt like it was born of decades not years. Perhaps that illusion of love shielded me from facing reality.
You and I aren’t meant to be.
I will never regret the time we spent together. Precious childhood memories will remain untarnished in my mind, but that future we both dreamed about as kids was a fallacy created by fertile imaginations.
It’s got to be. Because otherwise we would not have ended up here.
A sneaky tear slips out of my eye, rolling in slow motion down my face. It lands on the page, blurring the ink a little. I swipe under my eyes with my thumbs, glancing at the clock. I resume writing before I run out of time or my nerve fails.
I love you. I always have and I always will, but I’m letting you go. It’s best for everyone involved.
Dream big, Kal, because you are destined for great things.
Don’t look for me.
If you’ve ever cared for me, you will do that one thing. You will stay away. Leave the past in the past, and pretend like I never even existed.
But remember this much—you are the only boy who ever owned a piece of my heart, and that piece will always belong to you.
I will never forget you.
Be happy.
Lana.
The tears return as I fold the page, fit it into an envelope, and write his name on the front. More quiet tears fall as I shuck off my pajamas and pull on the austere jet-black skirt suit. I button the crisp, white shirt all the way up to my neck as I toe on my ballet flats. Tucking the letter safely into the inside pocket of my jacket, I vow to find some way of getting this to Faye before the end of the day. She’s the only one I trust to deliver it to him.
I smooth my long, dark hair into a tight ponytail, taking one last look in the mirror before I leave.
I look like I’m attending my own funeral.
Which is pretty ironic, because that’s exactly what it feels like as I vacate my hotel room for the final time.
Chapter One
October of the following year
Lana
My head is buzzing, and it feels good. Feels great.
I’m doing it.
Thrusting my bottle of beer at Olivia, I stride toward the bar on slightly shaky legs, determined to properly let loose. This is the third time we’ve attended the Kappa Sigma Friday night party, and every other time I’ve wanted to do this, I’ve chickened out.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I have my big girl pants on.
The few beers I downed earlier at the Gator Growl—UF’s flagship event which marked the culmination of all the homecoming week activities—have helped loosen my inhibitions, too.
“Lana?” Olivia tugs on my elbow. “What’re you doing?”
“I’m dancing,” I confirm, kicking off my shoes. My roommate gawks at me, and I flash her a crooked grin.
Friday night is the only free time I have during the week, my one and only opportunity to cut loose, and I’m determined to make the most of it tonight.
I skip toward the bar area at the rear of the basement. This whole space was purpose-built a few years ago from a generous ex-frat alumni donation, if rumors are to be believed. The other side of the basement houses a few pool tables, a foosball table, a bunch of bean bags and low couches, and a top-notch stereo system. I stuck my head in that room one time and almost passed out from the pungent smoke infusing the air. This section is where most of the drinking and dancing takes place, and I’m way more comfortable out here.
I’ve never been a big drinker, but I allow myself a couple drinks on Fridays, as a reward of sorts for working my ass off all week.
A large counter runs the length of the wall at the back. Rows of shelves are built in behind it with designated space for kegs and cubbyholes stacked full of cups and other drinking paraphernalia. It’s not a functional bar, but it’s the next best thing.
These parties are legendary, and everyone wants an in. Riley—the junior Liv recently started dating—lives here, so we’re an automatic shoo-in now.
The dancing on the bar tradition was started a couple years back by a few seniors—girls from a nearby sorority—who gatecrashed one night. They started a trend, and now it’s almost as legendary as the parties themselves.
The old me wouldn’t have dreamed of doing anything so wild.
The new me can’t wait to get my ass up on that counter. Tonight, I’m joining the honorary roll call, consequences be damned.
I haul myself up on the bar, rather inelegantly, staggering a little until I find my balance. A loud cheer erupts from the packed crowd when I remove my shirt and toss it in Olivia’s direction. My white tank top is tight with thin straps and a sheer lace overlay which
touches the edge of my short jean skirt. My usual pale skin is tan from a summer spent by the pool on the grounds of my grandparents’ lavish property.
My hips move of their own accord, and I glance sideways, sharing a blinding smile with the petite redhead dancing alongside me. We grin at each other as the slick beats pump out. Flinging my hair over my shoulders, I do a little shimmy up and down, earning a few catcalls in the process.
I notice a couple of guys watching my every move, and my skin heats up. My moves become a little more provocative, a little sexier. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Liv smiling in my direction. She gives me a quick thumbs-up, and I laugh, continuing to pump and grind to the sultry rhythm.
Surprisingly, I’m enjoying this.
The old Lana would never have been so uninhibited.
But that girl no longer exists.
Along with her scandalous past.
I’m not Lana Taylor anymore. Courtesy of my wealthy grandparents, and a recent circuit court petition, I’m now Lana Williams. A new name deserves a new outlook on life, and I’m determined to forge a new path. To forget the boy who forever captured my heart on a beach in Nantucket.
Loving Kalvin (The Kennedy Boys Book 4) Page 1